Closure
by Rock114
Summary: Before reaching Howe's Hardware, Luke, Pete, and Nick were alone in the wilderness. On a day seemingly like any other, Luke and Pete discover a long lost acquaintance while out scavenging for supplies in the week following the death of Nick's mother.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I have a confession to make. I'm an utter fanboy of Pete. He and Nick are hands down my favorite characters of Season 2. For a character with as little screentime as Pete got, well, that's certainly an accomplishment. Or a sign of my ever unraveling mental faculties. Either one, really. So anyways, here's a pre-Season 2 story featuring Pete, Luke, and Nick (oh, and one other character) before they reach Howe's Hardware and cross paths with the rest of the Cabin Crew. This is Part 1 of 4.**

* * *

**512 Days In  
**  
"...and six months later, we were flat broke. Lost every dime we had."

"And why is it that I'm just hearing about this now, Luke?" Pete's look of disbelief and subtle disappointment was cutting. The two men strode down a cracked and sun-baked street less than a mile outside the city limits of Ashland. Signs of the devastation littered the landscape around the two, signaling the end of an era of mankind. The sun was high in the sky, its rays attempting to beat the two into submission with the sweltering summer heat. Luke took the high temperatures in stride, but the older Pete was suffering under the relentless assault with sweat dripping from his bare head.

Luke shrugged. "Nick didn't want to tell you we lost all our money. He told me to keep it a secret because he thought you'd get mad at him."

"Damn right I'd have been mad," Pete growled. "What kinda idiot would think that that was a good idea for a business? And how much money did you lose again?"

"Too much," Luke sheepishly admitted.

"Goddamn," Pete sighed as he and Luke continued their trek, weapons in hand, down the road in search of supplies. "And all these years here I was thinking that he blew it on that…" Pete struggled with the name more than he cared to admit. "That thing you and him played games on, what was it…"

"It's called an Xbox, Pete," Luke laughed. "It doesn't cost that much. Not by a long shot."

"I remember that you'd come over and you and Nick would be up all night playing that one game, uh…"

Luke stifled another small chuckle. "Halo."

"What?"

"The game was called Halo, Pete."

"Eh, I don't understand it," Pete grunted, refocusing on the road ahead of him as his feet dragged across the heated concrete beneath him, warming his shoes. "Those video game things. All the channels on TV now. Everything. Back when I was Nick's age, we weren't able to do even half of the things that people could do just before all of this started."

"Pete, what are-"

"Times are just so different. Especially these days," he rambled on, gesturing around at the devastation they passed. "I got no idea what that boy's thinkin', you know?"

"Uh, Pete…?"

"Huh?" The old man looked back to Luke, snapping out of his rant. "Oh. Sorry."

Luke edged a few inches closer to the older man, and spoke with concern in his voice. "Pete, are you alright? Is something wrong?"

"No." Pete looked away to the side with a sigh. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"I'm just… tryin' to figure out where it all went wrong. With me and Nick. Most of the time it just feels like we're from different worlds. We're never on the same wavelength. I tried to understand back before the Plague, but everything was so different from when me and his mother were growing up. I just can't... comprehend it. The way he thinks. You and him and your whole generation just... grew up different than mine did. I think. I wish I knew."

"Well that's how it goes, I guess" Luke noted somberly. "Things just keep moving forward. Changing."

"Yeah, I suppose," Pete said. "But it feels like somewhere along the way I got left behind and just never realized it."

"I don't think any of that stuff matters anymore," Luke stated. "You're the only family Nick's got left now. That's gotta count for more than just growing up different, right?"

"What do you mean? You're here too, Luke."

"Excuse me?" The younger man stopped in his tracks for a second.

"You heard me," Pete said. "You've known Nick and me for a good 20 years now. You knew his mother just as long. You and Nick are brothers if I ever saw them. As far as I'm concerned that makes you family."

"Oh… well… thanks, Pete. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say nothin'," the old man continued. "Family's more than just blood. Especially in times like these."

"Yeah, family…" Luke answered absently.

There were several moments of silence before Pete spoke again. "I don't want to bring up any bad memories," he hesitated, "But I'm real sorry about your folks. They were good people."

Luke picked up his pace. "That's in the past now, alright? They're gone."

"I just don't think I ever got around to tellin' you that," Pete confessed. "There was so much happenin' in those early days. We were always on the run barely ahead of the lurkers, no time to think or nothin'. Anyway, I just wanted to say it. They did right by you, the way they raised you. I'm sure they'd be proud."

"Just let it go," Luke commanded. "I don't wanna… just leave it in the past, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry. I shouldn't have said nothin'."

"Hey," Luke said, pointing to an abandoned rest stop on the side of the road. "There might be something in there. Let's check it out."

"Maybe," Pete considered. "Let's take it slow. After what happened last week I don't want to take any risks we don't need to."

The two crept toward the rest stop, weapons raised. An old car or two lay nearby, rusting in the sun while the men slid the door of the rest stop open and stepped into the main room.

"Wait," Luke said, stopping the two. "Pete?"

"Yeah?" the old man turned to him, waiting.

"Thanks," Luke muttered. A warm smile sprang to life on the old man's face, restoring a bit of the energy that had been sapped from him throughout the years. "Should I keep an eye out for any cigarettes?" the young man joked.

"Hell, you find any Red & Gold's I'll give you my rations for a week." The blissful feeling of their small reconciliation evaporated as a terrifyingly familiar voice crashed out from one of the side rooms of the rest stop, shaking Pete to his core.

"Jesus H Christ, it _is _you! Old Peter Randall himself!" Then the figure emerged from a doorway and the moment was destroyed. The man had a scruffy complexion with a thin graying mustache, piercing blue eyes and a rough, grating voice. He was dressed in hunting attire and shouldered a crossbow, complete with arrows tucked away in his belt.  
The light from the noon sun shined off of his balding head, but the man still possessed more hairs than Pete could claim to.

"Oh my God," Pete whispered. "It can't be. No. No no no no no…"

"What's wrong, Pete? Ain't you glad to see your old buddy Wayne again?" The man squinted for a moment before his eyes fixed themselves on Luke and widened in surprise. "That can't be… Luke? Is that really you?"

"Pete," Luke whispered back, "Who the hell is the guy?"

"He's bad news" Pete said, attempting to conceal his trembling. "This guy is about the last person we wanted to meet out here. We gotta lose him."

Before Luke could inquire, Wayne was stomping toward the two with a jovial expression. "So Pete," Wayne shouted. "Where's Nick?"

Pete snapped at him with a righteous fury. "I got no idea," he lied. "I ain't seen him since this all started."

Wayne let out a deep, throaty chuckling. "That's a good one, Pete," Wayne mocked, resting his hands on his knees. "My bullshit detector is as good as yours, and right now it's saying that you're full of it. Now tell me where Nick is," Wayne drawled, taking a perverse pleasure in drawing out his words. "After all, it's been too long since I saw my son."

"SON?!" Luke cried. "Pete, what the hell is going on?"

Pete's voice shook as the old man felt what little remained of his world collapse all around him and fall into shards at his feet. "This is Wayne Brewer," he struggled to say. "Nick's father."


	2. Chapter 2

The trio forced its way through the forest, pushing aside branches and circling around trees and rocks covered in moss and dirt as Pete, full of shame, led the group back toward their camp. Wayne had his arm around Luke's shoulders.

"...and you're telling me that you didn't remember me? At all?" Wayne, crestfallen, put on a frown more for show than it was to represent any genuinely hurt feelings. "Really?"

"Uh, no," Luke said, attempting to push himself away from the overbearing hunter. "I never came over when you were home."

"Is that so?" Wayne grumbled, shooting Pete a narrow-eyed stare punctuated with a noticeable sneer. "Well, that's all about to change," Wayne said, shifting back to Luke as Pete hunched his shoulders in front of the two as Wayne continued rambling.

"So what are you doing in these parts, Wayne?" Luke ventured. "We haven't seen anybody since we came up this way, really. Well, except for one person last week."

"You mean you didn't hear?" Wayne asked, startled.

"It's kinda hard to hear things when there's nobody else around to tell you," Luke said.

"Shit," Wayne said, staring at him surprised. "People are rebuilding. There's a whole settlement around in these parts, somewhere. Lots of people, food, guns, everything."

"Bullshit," Pete accused.

Wayne put his hands up. "If you don't believe me, then fine. All I'm telling you is what I heard. A bunch of people got together and started fortifying this hardware store, a Howe's I think. I was just on my way there when I ran into you two at the rest stop. But now? Now we can all head there together. As a family."

Pete dropped his voice to a whisper, barely audible even to himself. "Jesus, why? Why did he have to survive out of everyone?" Pete's eyes wandered back to Wayne and Luke as the father continued to shout about how good it felt to see them again. "This piece of shit ain't even worth the air the breathes. And Kate's dead when he ain't?"

"Not worth the air I breathe, Pete? Come on, I'm the boy's father, you shouldn't be talking like that about me."

"What?" The confusion in Pete's voice was nearly physical. "You heard… how-"

"Settle down," Wayne cackled. "You can't fool these hunter's ears," he revealed, cupping a hand behind his ears for a brief second before breaking into a fit of twisted laughter.

"Real funny," Luke moaned.

"Wasn't it?" Wayne agreed, clearly unable to comprehend the blatant sarcasm. "Anyway, what was that about Kate? Something happen to her?"

"We've been hiking for over half an hour," Pete snapped, "And you're just now askin' about her? She was your goddamn wife."

"Yeah, I guess she was," Wayne shrugged.

Pete's killing, hate filled stare bounced off of the uncaring man's solid apathy. "She's dead," Pete informed him with an even tone. "Got bit last week. Nick had to put her down." Staring the piece of trash down, Pete looked straight into his eyes and found nothing. No grief, no anger, not even a mild concern. He was blank as a clean slate. Uncaring, devoid of emotions toward others.

Exactly the same way he'd been since the day he married Kate. Wayne hadn't changed one bit.

Wayne didn't even pause to think about it. "Well, shit happens I guess. Damn shame, she had a fine body. Whatever. How's my boy taking it?"

"He's pretty torn up. And he ain't your boy," Pete stated firmly, putting an edged growl into his voice as he finally worked up the nerve to stop walking. "And you ain't going near him. Never again. I'm ashamed I already took you this far." Pete walked over to Luke and stood beside him, crossing his arms. "You ain't comin' with us. C'mon Luke, let's go."

"But Pete," Luke said, pulling the old man back.

"No," Pete said. "Luke, you can't be serious."

"But he's Nick's dad," Luke reminded him.

"Finally!" Wayne cried. "Luke finally made a point. I take back all the bad things I ever thought about you, kid," Wayne apologized with poorly faked sincerity.

Luke turned back to him, annoyed. "What do you mean 'finally?'"

"See Luke?" Pete asked. "This piece of shit doesn't really care. You can tell plain as day. When you were little, you know why we never let you come visit Nick while this asshole was around?"

"Pete, shut the fuck up," Wayne spat menacingly.

"It was because this idiot was drunk. Every. Damn. Time."

Wayne snarled. "I told you to cram it, old man."

"You know what else?" Pete went on. "This… this _fucker_, he hit Nick. That's right. A little kid."

"You bastard! He ain't your goddamn son!" Wayne shouted, "So you don't get to tell me how to raise him!"

"You were never there for me to say anything!" Pete challenged. "And when you were, you were piss drunk and violent. I got no goddamn idea why Kate made all them excuses for you, but I stopped listening to them the moment you struck Nick."

"Pete, I said-"

"Yeah, you did say," Pete seethed, grinding his teeth while his face flushed red. "And I don't care. I guess that black eye I gave you didn't knock any sense into that thick skull of yours."

"He what?!" Luke, incredulous, turned toward Wayne with a death glare. "Is it true?"

"Well, I wouldn't-"

_"Is it true?"_

Wayne spit into the dirt at Pete's feet, then extended his middle finger. "Yeah, so what if I did? Fuck you, Pete." He turned his ire toward Luke and the young man felt himself instinctively reach for his machete. "And you know what? You can get fucked too, Luke. I never wanted you hanging around my boy. You're a flake. I can tell plain as day and he deserves better."

Luke muttered a threatening growl as he took a step toward Wayne. "Don't dress it up like you care about him! I always heard the things Pete and Kate said about you, but I didn't think anyone could be that bad. Were you trying to be an asshole, or is it just who you are? What kind of piece of shit acts this way?" Slowly, Luke drew his hand away from the machete's hilt and let his arm fall to his side. "Let's go, Pete."

Wayne wrestled the crossbow off its sling and brought it up to bear on the two men. "You ain't leaving me! You can't keep me from my son!"

Pete's rifle came up in a flash, his old army training kicking in like a machine. The sights of his rifle were positioned at Wayne's head before the other man's crossbow could come all the way up. "I'd put that down, Wayne, or I-"

"Shit, lurkers!" Luke's machete flew from its sheath as the young man sliced down through a lurker's skull.

Wayne spun around, putting an arrow cleanly through the eye of one of the lurkers that had snuck up on them. He loaded another arrow as Pete's rifle cracked out a bullet directed at another member of the horde. "How the hell did they get the jump on us?" Wayne demanded as nearly a dozen corpses surged forth from the brush.

Luke brought his machete up and stabbed through the jaw of one of the corpses, severing its spinal cord as his machete punched through the other side of its body. "The shouting!" he yelled, swinging downward and sending another lurker back to hell. "We didn't see them because we weren't payin' attention!"

Pete's rifle thundered again. Before him a lurker's head jerked violently backward, throwing flecks of diseased blood all over the vegetation as it fell to the forest floor. Another walking corpse immediately emerged from behind a tree and lunged as the dead began to swarm over the men like ants.

It bowled into the old man from the side. Caught by surprise, Pete's rifle fell from his hands as he plummeted toward the dirt with the demon's fingers tightening around his throat, the yellow teeth opening wide and craning down for a bite. Still acting on an instinct honed by training, Pete grabbed for the knife at his belt and yanked it out of the sheath in the same motion as he rolled to the side, taking the lurker with him. As he drew in deep, heavy breaths, the strain on his aged body made itself known.

But now the tables were turned. Pete's roll put him on top of the lurker with a knife in his hand. The creature snapped at him once before Pete took hold of the knife's hilt with both hands and plunged it downward, putting an end to the monster's miserable existence.

A small pain emanated from Pete's knee as he attempted to rise from the ground, but failed. The knee was an old wound, one he had lived with for decades, and now it was acting up. He must have fallen on it wrong. He did his best to ignore it, push the pain away, but exhaustion was beginning to set in. Panting, muscles on fire, he tried to rise again but the unforgiving specter of old age was determined to keep him down. That was when a dirty hand appeared at the edge of the old man's vision.

He looked up to find Wayne standing above him, crossbow in one hand while he waited for Pete to grab the other. "Enjoying that mouthful of dirt," Wayne growled, "Or do you want to get up and help for once?" Scowling, Pete took his hand.

As Wayne ran off to retrieve one of his arrows, Pete tried to catch his breath. Several feet away Luke effortlessly brought his machete in a horizontal slash that beheaded a lurker. Before that one even collapsed completely to the ground Luke dodged the death grasp of another and stabbed his blade cleanly through the side of the thing's head as a third lunged, missing Luke by inches, before the energetic warrior kicked it to the ground and stabbed his weapon into the back of its head. Without so much as a backward look he was on his feet again, machete blade dancing in the air before him cutting down even more of the abominations.

The display made Pete feel even older. His bones ached and sweat poured from him like a river after fighting off one of them with a knife. The youthful Luke had dispatched three of them in half the time with a fraction of the effort.

Then he heard Wayne. Rifle in hand he found the man almost immediately. A lurker from behind him, unnoticed during the battle, had grabbed Wayne from the back and was even now caning its mouth down to take its first bite. The thing's mouth was positioned inches away from Wayne's neck, wide in anticipation and deadly intent.

Wayne's eyes were desperate. Begging. His mouth bent in a primal scream for help, one hand reaching toward Pete even though they were so far apart. The world went into slow motion as the sights of Pete's rifle settled over the lurker's head. It wasn't an easy shot but he could make it. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire as he had so many times before.

But he didn't. Instead, he hesitated with a single thought. The thought was powerful, overbearing, clearing his mind of all else but its presence, a question that demanded an answer before action would be allowed.

_If it were Nick in his place, and Wayne in mine, would he do this for him?  
_  
It was only a moment. A second. A fractional, finite amount of time beneath notice. But it was all that it took.

Wayne's scream echoed through the trees as the lurker bit into him and tore away the side of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound like a miniature fountain, spilling into the man's clothes. The corpse bit into him again, widening the wound and causing Wayne to spasm with agony in a futile attempt to push the beast away.

Pete's rifle barked. It tore through the lurker's skull as the corpse prepared to take a third bite, jarring the decayed cadaver off of its victim before crumpling to the ground without so much as a spiteful hiss. Wayne stood on wobbling legs, pressing his hands against the wound as it sprayed a steady stream of blood before he collapsed as well, lying on his back in the dirt as the ground beneath him steadily darkened from the tide of crimson spilling out of him.

Pete stood speechless. He never hesitated. Hesitation was death, for you or the man next to you. It was the very first thing they drilled out of you in boot camp. Action, always action. That was survival. Acting, reacting. But he hadn't acted. And one errant thought had cost Wayne his life.

The only thing on Pete's mind was the horrifying realization that this was his fault. He had killed Nick's father.


	3. Chapter 3

"You… you…"

"Wayne, I tried-"

"You killed me. I'm dead." Wayne's expression was solemn and sober as his blood continued to drain, but a building rage was detectable in the back of his voice. "You didn't even try to help."

"Jesus…" A deep seated sickness had settled in Pete's chest, worming its way into his heart. He wanted to be shocked that he had hesitated, ashamed that he had done the one thing he had been taught never to do. His hesitation had killed Wayne. He was a murderer now.

But he couldn't feel any of that. He had let a man die and he didn't care.

What kind of person had he become?

"Everything okay guys?" Luke shouted at them as he strode up, wiping blood from his machete. "I think that was the last of'em, but-" He stopped mid sentence as he finally looked at Wayne on the ground, slowly dying. The man's skin had become noticeably more pale. From blood loss or the infection it wasn't certain, but it was obvious that Wayne was swiftly approaching death's door. "Christ! Pete, what happened?"

"Pete…" Wayne coughed, coating his voice in a guttural inflection. "He killed me, Luke…"

"What?" The young man took a step back, throwing his gaze from the bleeding Wayne to the shocked Pete as he absorbed Wayne's words. "Maybe… maybe we can help you, maybe I can cut the bite out-"

"No," Pete cut him off. "Once you get bit you're dead. We saw it happen with Kate. He's on his way out, Luke."

"You can't- I mean- You would never let-"

"Of course he would, boy," Wayne choked. "He got too used to pretending to be Nick's dad. He saw a chance to get rid of the only competition he had, and he took it." After a few seconds of breathless struggling, Wayne managed to bring his head up and look at Pete. With a vicious, poisonous contempt he spat at the old man. It came out red, landing on his boots just as Wayne ran out of energy and his head collapsed once again.

"No," Luke denied. "Pete wouldn't do that, he ain't like that."

"You're wrong, kid. Like always." Grimacing with an unnatural pain, Wayne began to cough, breaking off the fit after a few seconds and holding it inside himself. "This piece of shit… I saw him. One of these fuckers came up behind me. Uncle Asshole here had a clean shot on it, was ready to take it… but he didn't. Not until that fucking thing killed me." Hanging on to a scream, Wayne slowly pulled his hands away from his neck. They were sticky with blood, completely coated with the fluid. Now with nothing holding it back, the full tide of crimson flowed out of Wayne's neck, past the torn flesh and shredded veins. "This is what… he did to me…"

"No."

"Yes, kid, you stupid fu...fuck…" Another round of pain came on, and Wayne abandoned his insult, fingers twitching as the life left him. "He's a fucking murderer now," he managed. "He hesitated. It was on purpose. I _know_ it."

Pete finally stepped forward. "Wayne, I swear I didn't try to-"

"Save me," he accused. "You didn't… even… try… oh fuck…"

Luke crouched next to Wayne, quietly intoning a final question. "Is there anything… we can do?"

"Please…" Wayne begged, "Just bring Nick. I want… to see him… one last time… please…"

Pete walked over, revitalized and with a new, determined fire. "I can't do that, Wayne," he informed him evenly, loading his rifle.

Disbelief flooded from Luke as he challenged the older man. "Pete, its his last request! I don't care how much of an asshole he is, the man is dying! We gotta bring Nick."

"Please, Pete…" Wayne pleaded, reaching up to the old man with a trembling, bloody hand. "Let me talk to him… he's my son… my flesh and blood. You can't deny me that… it's my… dying wish… you used to be better than that, Pete. You can't-"

The ear-splitting explosion of a rifle crack ripped through the still forest air as a hole appeared in the middle of Wayne Brewer's head. Thin wisps of smoke drifted out of the barrel of Pete's rifle as he lowered the weapon and stared at Wayne's corpse with contempt, though the stare was less for Wayne that it was for him.

"Yeah," he whispered with a voice full of shame, "I can."

"Jesus Christ!" Luke screamed. "You fucking shot him!"

"Luke, we-"

"Pete, you killed him... I… was he right? About you?"

The guilt continued to burn within him as Pete turned away, unable to face what he had done as he admitted it to the both of them. "I hesitated. Wayne was right. I got him killed." Under his breath, barely a whisper, he repeated it. "I got him killed."

Luke stepped over the corpse to confront Pete, the flames of anger burning bright in his eyes. "Why?! Why would you do that? He was Nick's dad for Christ's sake! What gives you the right?"

"I didn't mean to," Pete continued in hushed tones, almost oblivious to Luke's accusations. "I just thought about Nick and if Wanye would save him if he was in that position. I didn't... plan for this. Him dying. It was just the heat of the moment."

Luke turned back to Wayne's corpse, looking the cadaver up and down with a look of disgust he couldn't bear to bring around to Pete. "Well would he? Did you figure out an answer yet?"

"Honestly… I don't know."

"Fuck," Luke cursed. "Well we can't do nothing now. What are we gonna tell Nick?"

"Nothing."

He turned back to Pete, angry eyes replaced by ones filled with confusion and surprise. "What?"

Pete shook it off as he once again went to face Luke, hardening himself by putting on his impenetrable exterior so he could take charge once again. "The day Nick was born, that piece of shit Wayne was playing poker down the block with his friends. He wouldn't even come to see his kid get born. He was always putting down Nick and his mom. Everything he did nearly ruined Kate's life, ruined Nick's life. He never cared. Now Kate's dead. Nick saw that woman as one of the only good things that ever existed in this world even before corpses started walking around. She's dead now. When Wayne was asking to see Nick, I couldn't let him. It would ruin the boy."

"Pete, I just think he wanted to see his son one last time."

"Maybe," the old man conceded after a few seconds of consideration, "But nothing he said could have made up for the years of pain he caused. Wayne hadn't changed Luke, not one bit. He'd use those last few minutes with Nick to butt back into his life and ruin what little happiness the boy still had. Whether he meant to or not."

"So we can't even tell Nick what happened?"

"No. Nick's already on the edge. This could send him over it. Luke, we can't ever tell him about this."

Arms crossed, Luke gave a curt nod. "Fine."

"No. Luke, promise me that you'll take this to your grave. I don't like it any more than you, but it's the way this has to be. For Nick."

"...alright. I promise. To my grave."

"You know that this is the right thing to do, right Luke?"

For a long moment Luke didn't say anything as he mentally wrestled with the promise he had just made, before he finally managed to respond with a voice wrapped in pain and guilt. "No Pete. I don't."

"I don't like it either," Pete sighed. "But sometimes the truth will do more harm than good. Sometimes you have to lie to protect the people you care about." Sparing a glance at his watch, Pete checked his rifle and began to walk. "Now let's get back to camp, we're burnin' daylight. In the morning we'll set out for that hardware store Wayne told us about. Maybe we'll find someone or something. If this place is for real then this might be the first decent thing Wayne did for his family in his entire life."

Leaving the corpses behind them, the two set off for camp. Pete could feel a dark cloud settle over him as he limped along, enveloping him in the shadow of guilt and shame he'd been trying to hold off since Wayne's reappearance. But now there was no fighting it as it overwhelmed his defenses and held him at its mercy.

He'd never killed a man before. Not even in the army. He could already sense the change inside himself, through the sorrow and regret at what he had just done. The forest around him had been vibrant mere minutes before, but now it was shaded with gray. So much gray. The world was darker now, colorless and dead like trees in winter. Killing was no way to live.

* * *

**AN: And that's Part 3. One more to go.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here's the final Part of Closure. To everyone who has read this story, thanks for taking the time out of your day to look over these words. And to those of you who left reviews, MEGA thanks. Taking a minute or two of your time to give me feedback is extremely appreciated. You guys are awesome.**

**Anyway, without any further ado, here it is.**

* * *

Above the two of them the stars shone brightly down into the forest, giving a small amount of illumination to the solid darkness of night. The meek flames of the campfire crackled almost unheard as Pete stared up at the sky while Nick, conversely, stared into the flames with a cold, blank expression and his knees pulled up to his chest.

The brilliance of the sky was nearly lost on Pete. He knew from experience how awe inspiring the night sky could be from any one of dozens of camping trips he'd been on over the course of his life, but none of it was the same. Ever since he'd pulled that trigger hours ago, ended Wayne's life, the world around him was faded, lacking color. It was all slightly off, like he was looking at it from a different perspective.

He hated it.

Luke held Pete's rifle as he quietly circled the forest camp several dozen feet out, keeping an eye out for danger. The woods weren't as thick with lurkers and bandits as the roads and the towns were, but danger could sneak up on them at any time. Just like it had earlier that day.

"The stars are out," Pete said to Nick. "They're beautiful at this time of night. You should take a look."

Nick continued staring into the campfire. "Sure. Whatever."

Around their camp, deep into the trees, they could hear the sounds of nature. Insects buzzing, leaves rustling in the wind. From time to time a firefly or two would make itself known with their signature glow, before vanishing again into the embrace of darkness. It was nature in its purest form. But none of it was the same for Pete.

"You alright, son?"

"You ain't my father," Nick hissed bitterly. The mention of "father" caused Pete to flinch.

"She died just last week. It's okay to not be… well, okay. It's alright Nick."

Nick turned away from the fire, casting his eyes back over the tents. "I'm fine." Pete's bullshit detector was screaming at him. Nick stood, dusting off his pants before preparing to walk to the tents and end the conversation by going to sleep.

"I bet you still see her, right? Out of the corner of your eye when your mind wanders."

Nick turned back. His trembling fists clenched, he uttered a hushed scream that barely concealed the hoarseness in his voice. "No. I. Am. Fine. Stop talking about her."

"Listen, Nick, I-"

"No!" Nick's face was red. Biting his lip, he interrupted Pete before the older man could speak again. "You saw me pull the trigger. It had to be done. She's gone."

Pete patted the ground right next to him as he craned his head back up to take in the sky. "Alright. We won't talk about her. Come over here for a second, we can talk about something else."

Even as he rolled his deep blue eyes, Nick obeyed. Planting himself next to Pete, his gaze followed his uncle's until he was staring straight upward. The tiny pinpoints of light above them were innumerable. Constellations stretched over the sky, hidden among the infinite amount of stars that dotted the deep blackness that hung above them.

"Nights like these always remind me of Charlie," the old man reminisced. "Did I ever tell you about him?"

"No," Nick whispered as he lost himself among the lights in the sky.

Pete slipped his watch off his wrist, cradling it in his hands like a lost treasure from a bygone age. "Charlie was my best friend. We did everything together for as long as I could remember. We even got drafted in the same week."

Nick couldn't bring himself to look away from the sky. "Drafted?"

Pete looked back up, letting his eyes wander through the shining night sky. "Yeah. Back in the 60's. We got sent overseas to fight. We were even in the same unit."

A hint of curiosity entered Nick's voice. "You never told me about that."

"No, I wouldn't have. I didn't like it. The fighting, the death. I didn't want to bring any of that back home with me."

"Well, now here we are," the younger man replied, sorrowful. "The whole world is just a big warzone now."

Pete agreed, keeping his eyes trained upward. "Yeah. But you wouldn't know that anything was wrong from looking up there. It's just so…"

"...beautiful," his nephew finished. "So what happened to Charlie?"

"It was on a night just like this one," Pete began. "1970. Our squad was coming back from a few days of leave in town, getting driven back to base on a truck. It was dark out, but some engineers had swept the road an hour or so before we went through so our squad leader figured it'd be safe."

Nick took off his hat, setting in his lap as he continued to stare upward along with Pete. "But it wasn't."

"No." Pete looked back down at the watch clutched tightly in his palm. "One moment we were just driving along, talking and making stupid jokes, and the next there was a loud explosion the truck just flew into the air." Just like the rest of the environment, the watch's colors were invisible to Pete. It was different. "Charlie was sitting right next to me when it happened. The whole truck just turned into a huge fireball, with shrapnel and dirt flying everywhere. It threw me out of my seat and into a ditch with a piece of metal sticking out of my knee. Charlie was just… gone."

"Gone?"

"Yeah," Pete choked out, turning his head down for a second to wipe away a tear. "He was there one second, and the next he… wasn't. The only survivor aside from me was Al. I pulled him out of the wreck and carried him almost a mile to the nearest outpost. After a couple weeks in a hospital they sent me home. I wasn't deemed well enough to fight with my knee, so they gave me a couple medals for pulling that guy out of there and kicked me to the curb."

"So what was it like? The war?" Nick had taken on an inquisitive aura that Pete hadn't seen for a decade.

A few vivid memories flashed through his mind of shredded trees and burning jungles. A village turned into smoldering debris by bombings, the air thick with roiling clouds of smoke and ash. "I couldn't get out of that place soon enough."

Pete ran his hand along the watch, savoring the feel of metal and glass that bound it together with closed eyes. "For a long time I couldn't believe that he was dead. Sometimes I'd see him out of the corner of my eye when my mind began to wander. Once in a while I'd catch a glimpse of him out on the streets, even years after it happened. That's what happens when you lose someone close to you."

Nick silently fidgeted, his discomfort pouring off of him like a waterfall.

"For a long time I wondered why I made it out when he didn't. Why it wasn't me that died, what I could have done different. I always tortured myself with the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. But you can't do that. Sometimes bad things just happen and there ain't no explanation." He slipped a sideways look at his nephew and saw his face twitch as he shoved his emotions down, hiding them from his uncle. "Sometimes it's nobody's fault."

Nick finally broke off his gaze from the sky and turned to Pete. "Well, how did you get through it?"

"I shut myself off for a long time. Eventually I opened up about it, and my family helped me through it. You can't keep things like this bottled up. It ain't healthy." Nick shifted, pulling his cap back on and going to stand.

"Hey Nick?" Pete stood with him, admiring the watch for a few final seconds before placing it in his nephew's hands. "I want you to have this."

"Your watch?" Nick's eyes lit up as the trinket fell into his hands, now shaking as they held one of the few truly precious possessions his uncle had ever owned.

Pete closed Nick's hands around the object and pushed it away from him. "It ain't mine. It was Charlie's."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He wrote it in his will that he wanted me to have that in case something happened to him. And now I'm giving it to you."

Nick, stunned, gawked wordlessly at the antique, submerged in reverence and awe. "Don't say nothin'," Pete commanded. "I know that things have been… hard, lately. And today I just…" _I killed your father._ "...I just did some thinking. I want you to have that. And if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here. You don't need to pretend to be fine."

Nick was steadfast in his denial. "I ain't pretending." Regardless, Pete could see the pain etched into his nephew's soul, the burning grief that lit him every time a stray thought led him to the memory of his mother.

With a heavy heart, Pete turned to the tents and stretched. "Well, if you say so. This old body is telling me I'm spent," he moaned. "Wake me up when it's my turn for lookout duty. I need to get some rest until then."

"Alright," Nick replied, letting his uncle drag himself toward the tent until the last second. "Wait, Pete."

The old man turned. "Yeah?"

Nick, fidgeting as he worked the watch onto his wrist, gave off a smile. After a few seconds he raised his hand, showing off the watch on his wrist. "Thanks." His smile was faint with a hint of sorrow, but it was genuine.

Pete grinned back at him before ducking into the tent, taking one last look outside as Nick returned to the fire and began adjusting the watch. That was when Pete noticed something.

The colors had come back.


End file.
